


A Room Full of Roses

by fullyajar



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Action & Romance, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Hollstein of course, Mild Sexual Content, Rated T for language, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullyajar/pseuds/fullyajar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura had plans for Valentine’s Day – dinner and dancing and kissing and come-hither eyes and <i>we’ll see where the night takes us. </i>And flowers. Beautiful lilies and orchids and roses and sunflowers. <i>Free</i> flowers, courtesy of LaFontaine and the Alchemy club! </p><p>She just didn’t think she’d have... quite… this… many…</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Room Full of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> **The prompt:** Something with Carmilla hating commercialized celebrations, especially Valentine’s Day.  
>  **The inspiration:** The Christmas episode, Harry Potter, and a certain grump’s views on Valentine’s Day.  
>  **The result:** A bit of romance, a lot of bickering, smatters of crack, and an uncompromisingly adventurous Valentine’s Day mixed with a satirical song!fic. 
> 
> The title is from George Morgan's [A Room Full of Roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tey9iTkttH0) \- **go listen now,** it's a very important song!! There is a further extensive soundtrack for this fic in the end notes (with youtube links)! If you’re reading and you don’t know one of the songs that’s ‘mentioned’ (spoilerssss), I strongly recommend playing it at the end to get the full effect!

It’s February 14th, and Laura is hunting for affordable flowers. It’s no small feat, given that all the stores from Lidl to SPAR have been filled with red and pink and hearts and glitter since the beginning of January, and the prices have more than quadrupled every week.

By the fourth time she passes a flower store whose cheapest bouquet starts at 30 euros, she’s had enough. She stuffs her measly 20 euro bill deep into her pocket and stomps home – and nearly knocks down LaFontaine on the way into their dorm.

“Laura, whoa,” the redhead says with a laugh. “Where’s the fire?”

“Oh hey, sorry.” She kneels down to pick up the tiny box of Valentine’s Day chocolates – a dozen bonbons filled with caramel and hazelnut – she’d dropped, and tries to quell the irritation at the impossible Valentine’s Day combination of being broke and in love. She’s a _student._ She doesn’t have 30 euros for flowers. She supposes she could settle for a single rose – 5 euros apiece – but this is their first Valentine’s. The tiny box of chocolates she’d settled for does not cover it. She wants to make it special.

Correction: _wanted._ Because if _flowers_ are already above her budget, there’s no way that she’s going to be able to afford dinner for two at Goethe’s Grotto, the most romantic date spot in all of Styria – or so they say. She’d made a reservation, just in case, but the way this is going, she’s sure she’s going to have to cancel.

She frowns in disappointment.

LaFontaine raises a concerned eyebrow. “You okay?”

She sighs. “Yeah… just… don’t like being a student sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

LaFontaine smiles knowingly. “Ah.”

She huffs in annoyance. “At the prices they’re asking, you’d think the flowers were grown in soil sprinkled with blood diamonds and watered with champagne.”

“I feel ya.”

Laura raises a skeptical eyebrow. She’d think there were at least _some_ perks to dating a virtual consciousness…

LaFontaine laughs at her expression. “I mean, _I’m_ sending virtual ones, clearly. But Perry has had to postpone her weekly flower arranging class. Just too expensive. She’s been grumbling non-stop all week.”

“Sucks.”

“Yup.”

She pulls open the door to the entrance hall. “If you find any affordable ones, send them my way, okay?”

“Will do! See ya!” LaFontaine turns to leave, but a moment later as Laura is turning the corner, they peek their head through the door and call out loudly: “Oh, and don’t keep the whole dorm up tonight or I’ll have to do damage control with Perry again!”

Four heads of students lounging in the foyer turn and stare. Laura's cheeks heat up so instantly she swears her fingers go numb from the rapid blood redistribution.

“That was _one_ time!”

 

* * *

 

Okay.

Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.

Carmilla’s dislike of Christmas has been _firmly_ established – in regrettably grisly, gory detail that Perry’s halfhearted attempt at shielding her eyes could not spare her from eternally burning into her retina.

And Carmilla is no fan of Easter. She remembers last Easter – long before they were even cordial enough to say sincere good-mornings, let alone before they started dating – when Carmilla had cheered on the Glee club in singing graphic anti-Christian resurrection-themed carols across campus, and, Laura’s pretty sure, played _some_ kind of sinister hand in the Easter Bunny mascot’s untimely disappearance.

Today, when Carmilla gets up for the third time to hiss at the carolers crooning singing telegrams to lovers and crushes and filling the dorm with a capella renditions of “Silly Love Songs” and “Thinking Out Loud”, there’s simply no way around it anymore. 

Carmilla does not like holidays.

The vampire stomps back into their room, slamming the door behind her.

“Stupid, sentimental idiots.”

Her stomach turns unhappily.

“It’s kind of cute, though? Kind of?”

Carmilla snorts and settles comfortably back to her reading. “Having some strangers moan a tacky love song and embarrassing your lover in public to show how much you care? Definitely not.”

Laura purses her lips gloomily, pushing back the part of her that is bouncing to hold on to hope and declare in no uncertain terms her irritation at Carmilla’s cold, cold vampire heart.

Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But seriously…

“Who doesn’t like Valentine’s Day?”

Carmilla doesn’t even look up from her reading. “Me.”

Silence falls. She huffs – audibly – and slouches in her chair, scrolling unhappily through her video feed. The Valentine’s bonbons lie by her elbow unopened. In the passive camera feed on screen, she sees Carmilla peek over her book and frown.

“Sorry cupcake,” she says after a moment. “I’m not the romantic sort.”

She raises an eyebrow pointedly. “Says the girl who risked her life to get her crush a soul-sucking sword.”

“Okay, maybe I’m not _traditionally_ romantic.”

“But it’s _Valentine’s Day_!”

Carmilla puts her book down and Laura turns in her chair as the girl lifts a finger and leans forward pointedly.

“Well first of all, Valentine's Day was _never_ a day for couples. Historically, it was actually a day to honor Saint Valentine in various Christian denominations. So it’s pretty ridiculous that it's mainly couples that are celebrating it, instead of beekeepers and pilgrims everywhere just having a little party for their main man.”

“History one-oh-one,” she murmurs under her breath. Carmilla narrows her eyes suspiciously, but continues unfazed.

“The first time it was celebrated for couples was in the Middle Ages, and men would draw the names of girls from a jar at random to have sex with.”

“Oh wow.” She did _not_ know that – nor did she need to, honestly.

“Yeah.” Carmilla sits back with a self-satisfied grin. “ _Very_ romantic. Now, in the 15 th century, I’m pretty sure the celebrations for Saint Valentine included sacrifices. I bet back _then,_ Valentine’s Day was a hoot.”

“Right, a holiday where you can kill people,” she says with a bitter grimace.

Carmilla smiles widely. “Exactly.”

Laura purses her lips in annoyance. “You know, now it’s just a day to spend with the person you love and let them know you care.”

Carmilla laughs humorously. “Why do you need a day? It’s just an institutionalized, commercialized way to exploit hopeless romantics. True romance lies in spontaneity. In surprise and unexpected grand gestures, not in Hallmark cards and flowers. If I’m going to romance you, you won’t see it coming.”

Key word (apparently): _If._ She clenches her teeth sourly.

“In the meantime, I’ll just hold my breath then?”

Carmilla picks up her book again – the flavor for tonight is _Faust –_ and looks up from under her fringe disinterestedly. “Tonight? Don’t bother. It would go against my principles.”

She twitches in irritation, turning fully in her chair and glaring at the vampire. “So you really don’t want to celebrate it? Celebrate _us_? Go out to dinner? Take a walk under the stars?”

Carmilla snorts and tries to cover it up with a cough. Laura frowns and stands up sharply before she realizes she doesn’t actually have anywhere to go.

Carmilla looks up at her like she knows it, smirking and looking wholly self-satisfied. “Did you have grand plans, daffodil?”

“I just want to…” she grits her teeth at her lack of tact, and stalks to the bathroom. “…not be here.”

Being roommates with your girlfriend has its perks, but not being able to dramatically stalk out of the room is not one of them.

“Oh, now you’re pissed?” Carmilla drawls from the room, sliding to the edge of the bed and catching Laura’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

Laura looks away and clenches her jaw. “Yes!”

The vampire stands. “Come on! Valentine’s Day is stupid!”

“No!” Her hands tighten on the sink. “You are!”

Carmilla snorts. “Impressive come-back, sundance.”

She turns sharply and stomps back into the room, jabbing an accusatory finger at Carmilla. “You know what, just because you’re the Voldemort of holidays doesn’t mean we all are! You just suck the romance out of everything!”

“I _am_ a vampire. Sucking is my forte,” Carmilla spits back, crossing her arms.

Laura throws out her hand. “I want to celebrate Valentine’s with you!”

“And I don’t!”

It stings, but not enough to show. She tightens her shoulders and swallows against the bitter taste.

“Well, I don’t either anymore. Not like this, at least.”

“Well, good then!”

She sputters angrily and gestures to her desk. “And you can just forget about getting any of my Valentine’s chocolates now, got it?”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

There’s a knock at the door, and they both turn sharply to the sound.

_“WHAT?!”_

The door creaks open slowly, and LaFontaine sticks their head in cheerfully. Their face falls slightly as they look between the two of them, but they clear their throat undeterred. 

“Uhm, Laura? Can I borrow you real quick?”

She yanks open the door as Carmilla turns and falls back onto her bed. LaFontaine ducks to the edge of the door, shielding what looks like a tangle of colorful vines under their arms.

“Door, door!”

“What?” she asks, but pulls the door shut behind her.

LaFontaine pulls out the hidden package proudly. “I got you flowers!”

She frowns in confusion – not just at the unexpected Valentine’s gift, but at the flowers themselves. There are roses and azaleas and hydrangeas and daffodils. There are lilies and pansies and violets and poppies and petunias. The leaves are mismatched and sticking out from below the blossoms at odd, almost threatening angles. The variation seems simply endless.

And, if she’s not mistaken, they’re all potted into a pot less than 5 inches broad at the rim.

_How the –_

Her frown of confusion only deepens.

“I’m flattered but – ”

LaFontaine laughs and shifts the pot. “Jeez, goldfish memory much? You needed affordable flowers for Carmilla! I got you them!”

“Oh!” This morning feels like a lifetime away, and the still smoldering fury is not helping her memory. “Right.”

“They’re called _Florata multiforme._ Genetic mongrel of every species under the sun.” LaFontaine grins excitedly. “Cool, huh?”

Laura eyes the flowers apprehensively.

“They’re… colorful.”

LaFontaine’s grin grows and they turn the pot proudly. The flowers lean closer like they’re beckoning their noses to smell. Laura’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks again, but the flowers stay innocently still.

Is she seeing things?

LaFontaine’s knowing smile isn’t helping to quell her doubt.

“Just – don’t give them any sugar or water.”

Laura’s eyebrows climb higher on her forehead. “What are they, gremlins?”

LaFontaine waves their hand dismissively. “No, no, we just haven’t tested that.”

“We?”

“Uhm…” LaFontaine grins ruefully. “The Alchemy club and I?”

Laura’s eyes widen and she pushes back the guffaw of disbelief. “LaFontaine…”

“No, no, trust me, they’re safe. They’re even trained for Valentine’s Day!”

“Trained…?”

“You’ll see!” LaFontaine gracelessly pushes the pot of flowers into her arms, waves animatedly, and dashes away with a high-pitched: “Enjoy!”

Laura stares into the now empty hall with a mix of irritation and amusement. Part of her feels like dropping the flowers to the floor and slamming the door shut against the mess. But she hears Carmilla crankily clank down a glass on her desk and she cocks her head in annoyance.

Pot in her arms and head held high, she returns to the room.

Carmilla looks up rancorously, and her eyes widen.

“What are _they_?”

“Flowers. For you, my _love._ ” She plants the pot down unceremoniously on the vampire’s desk by the window and stalks past her to her bed.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, _darling,_ ” Carmilla drawls bitterly, matching her tone and lacing her fingers under her chin mockingly. Laura turns away from her and crosses her arms.

Silence falls. Laura stares unseeingly at her statistics reading. Not exactly the most thrilling of reads to begin with, and the frustration gnaws at her concentration like an insistent guinea pig so that minutes pass and she’s read the same sentence twenty times.

Yes, okay, she _knows_ that correlation does not equal causation.

She hears the creak of Carmilla’s bed as the girl stands, but stays stubbornly frozen.

“Seriously though, what _are_ they?” Carmilla asks, and from the corner of her eyes Laura sees her eyeing the flowers suspiciously.

“ _Florata multiforme_ or something. Science experiment,” she says shortly.

“Romantic,” Carmilla deadpans, reaching for the flowers. “It’s like… a bunch of flowers gave up their deformed children for adoption and stuffed them into the arms of a pumpkin vine... Ow! I think one of them just _bit_ me!”

Laura snorts and turns back to her book. “Serves you right.”

She can practically _feel_ Carmilla’s glare.

The girl pours herself a glass of blood and returns to _Faust,_ fiery red book cover hiding her eyes, and body determinedly relaxed.

Just a typical day. A typical night like any other.

Her jaw tightens.

Except for the viciously vetoed Valentine’s Day plans. She hasn’t even had time to cancel the dinner reservation.

The bitter taste returns to her mouth, and she glances over at Carmilla just as the vampire does as well. Their eyes meet for half a second before they both hastily look away.

Stupid, unromantic vampire.

After a few minutes, the silence is interrupted by faint music, and she rolls her eyes. Of course Carmilla would turn on music while she’s struggling through reading for her hardest course.

On Valentine’s Day.

Laura huffs her irritation but stays otherwise silent.

At least it’s some kind of love song. Perhaps just the smallest apology veiled in an 80’s ballad.

It starts soft and slow, a piano introduction with a hopeful tone. Then an unknown dubiously male voice starts singing:

_Tonight it's very clear_  
_'Cause we're both lying here_  
_There's so many things I wanna say._

She huffs in irritation and turns a page in her book pointedly just as Carmilla does the same.

 _Sometimes I just forget_  
Say things I might regret  
_It breaks my heart to see you crying_

Some breathy ensemble cover of “Glory of Love”? _Seriously_?

Apology not accepted.

“Change the channel please,” she snaps.

“Please,” Carmilla returns instantly.

She frowns in confusion, but the song shuts off, so she ignores it and reads the next page. She’s barely struggled through a sentence ( _doing multiple two-sample t-tests would result in an increased chance of committing a statistical type I error_ …) when the music starts again.

Really?

She steels her jaw and refuses to rise to Carmilla’s challenge.

It’s another love song – predictably. Seems happier. Maybe Carmilla is mocking the cheesiness of it. She wouldn’t put it past her. Also, what is with the covers? Some teenager must be beat-boxing and someone else is clearly trying to _sing_ the trombone.

_I, I'm so in love with you_  
_Whatever you want to do is all right with me_  
_'Cause you make me feel so brand new_  
_And I want to spend my life with you_

_Let me say that since, baby, since we've been together_  
_Loving you forever is what I need_  
_Oh let me be the one you come running to_  
_I'll never be untrue_

_Oh let's, let's stay together_  
_Lovin' you whether, whether_  
_Times are good or bad, happy or sad, alright, oh yeah_

“Good or bad, indeed...” she grumbles to herself as the miraculous Al Green a capella cover band continues to croons “Let’s Stay Together.”

Carmilla looks up from her reading. “What?”

She meets her eye for a second, but the apology she’d been hoping for is abysmally lacking in Carmilla’s indifferent gaze and set jaw.

“Nothing.”

They look away, and the silence stretches as the music fades away.

A tentative beat starts – something calypsonian, Caribbean. Then the strings and flutes come in – a strange timbre of harmony that sound suspiciously like young voices again. She tightens her jaw as the melody starts. She recognizes it instantly.

_There you see her_  
_Sitting there across the way_  
_She don’t got a lot to say_  
_But there’s something about her_  
_And you don’t know why_  
_But you’re dying to try_  
_You wanna kiss the girl_

Disney. The Little Mermaid. She swallows thickly and looks over at Carmilla. The simple love song stings more than all her sharp words, and all her girlfriend does is turn another page of her book and refuse to look at her.

“Can you stop?” she finally says. She hates the way her voice betrays her feelings, and she snaps her eyes away to control it. “Please?”

“Stop what?”

Carmilla’s voice is curious and confused, and Laura’s hand tightens on the book at the fake innocence. 

“I get it, okay?” she grits out, turning to Carmilla. “I’m a hopeless romantic and you’re too cool for it all. You can quit rubbing it my face with the cheesy love songs. Tonight’s going to be bad enough without you endlessly mocking me.”

Carmilla pulls back, startled, and finally, definitively, puts down her book. “Cupcake, slow down.”

“Don’t _cupcake_ me,” she snaps –

_Sha-la-la-la-la-la_  
_Ain’t that sad_  
_Ain’t it shame, too bad_  
_You gonna miss the girl_

“ – and for God’s sake will you turn off that _music_?”

“Laura,” Carmilla says carefully, shifting to the edge of the bed and holding her gaze warily. “I didn’t turn on any music.”

As though on cue, with a final _Go on and kiss the girl_ , the music cuts off.

And neither of them moved.

Laura’s heart jumps into her throat, and Carmilla slowly gets to her feet.

“Okay. That was… weird.”

Carmilla protectively lays her hand over Laura’s arm as she looks around the room for movement. “Around here, weird can kill.”

“Maybe it was a singing telegram in the hall?” Laura suggests half-heartedly.

“No, it came from in here.”

She knows it did. But her laptop is blank and still, and Carmilla’s stereo, it turns out, is unplugged.

There’s a twitch of movement. Subtle. Barely there. And... colorful.

Carmilla stiffens and turns to it, hand draw back ready for the attack.

The attack of… the _flowers_.

Laura pushes back a snort of laughter when Carmilla realizes who her foe is.

The flowers sway innocently in an absent breeze, flashing up their brilliant colors and lightly humming something that sounds suspiciously like Tina Turner’s “You’re simply the best”.

Carmillla loosens her hold on her arm – the fact she’d never let go is somewhat touching, she has to admit – and steps closer so the flowers tilt up to keep her in their line of sight. Or… in their line of petals or whatever.

“What in the world…?”

Laura cracks a smile. “LaFontaine said they were trained for Valentine’s Day. I didn’t know that meant _classically_ trained.”

“Great. So we’re getting _no_ sleep tonight.”

The flowers change their tune - to the Faders’ “No Sleep Tonight.”

Carmilla raises an incredulous eyebrow. “That wasn’t a request, bloombots.”

They cut off and change to “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner.

Laura can’t hold back the laugh. “Making friends, huh?”

“Is this supposed to be hurtful?” Carmilla demands disbelievingly as the flowers grow louder.

“Well, you’re the expert,” Laura says pointedly, and returns languidly to her place on the bed, her mood considerably soothed by the flowers poking fun at Carmilla and the fact that her girlfriend was _not_ mocking her via music.

Doesn’t mean she forgives her though.

“What are you doing?” Carmilla asks when she picks up her book again.

“Uhm, reading?”

“What about Alvin and the petunias here?”

The flowers chirp indignantly.

“They’re kind of cute, don’t you think?” she asks pointedly, just as the flowers begin to screech Alvin and the Chipmunk’s cover of “Wooly Bully.”

Laura flinches.

Carmilla raises an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

Ignoring them and returning them to LaFontaine tomorrow is a lot less appealing when she thinks her eardrums might be bleeding. “Okay, yeah, they’ve gotta go,” she says reluctantly.

The flowers cut off resentfully, and she swears, if flowers could beg, these have got it down pat. Not to mention the looking extremely betrayed bit. Even faceless, featureless, the drooping petals and hunched leaves are a dead giveaway.  

Carmilla smiles at their silence and sits back nonchalantly against the desk, catching Laura’s gaze.

“Well, as long as you don’t take it as an affront to romance or something, I’ve got an idea…”

She twitches in irritation at Carmilla’s mocking tone, but quells it. “I’m all ears.”

Carmilla just smirks confidently, and without breaking eye-contact, slides the flowerpot off the desk and into the trash with a gesture so smooth and cat-like Laura has to look again to make sure her pupils aren’t feline slits.

The pot cracks sharply, and the blossoms fall silent and still.

Laura purses her lips. So much for affordable flowers.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but you said it yourself. They had to go.”

“Just bad luck they were the only romantic thing in the room, huh?”

Carmilla shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t deny it.

She turns back to her book without retorting something snappy. If romance is off the table, the least they can try for is cordiality.

Suddenly, softly, there’s a triplet of slack-keyed twangs like Hawaiian elevator music, and she and Carmilla turn in confusion to the window – and then the trashcan explodes.

Carmilla lunges away from the blast of green vines as they snake across the desk and crawl up the window with alarming speed. She throws her arm in front of Laura as she jumps to her feet, eyes wide and incredulous as the supposedly innocent flowers show their true face.

“Stay back!” Carmilla commands, fingers digging into her arm and glancing skittishly to the corner.

The music swells, and the verse starts as the ukulele fingerpicking – _sung_ fingerpicking, no less – lilts and twangs cheekily.

_If I sent a rose to you_  
_For every time you made me blue_  
_You'd have a room full of roses._

Roses and petunias and lilies pop into existence along the vines as they race over the windowsill, growing like little explosions of color along a devil’s snare. The hydrangeas among the smaller blossoms bop to the beat and the simple beat-boxed percussion grows louder.

“What do we do?!” Laura screeches as the vines knock down and begin to strangle Carmilla’s lamp.

Carmilla lunges for the glass of blood on the desk as the flowers attempt to claim it, but pulls her hand back with a hiss when a pink snapdragon spits at her.

“Don’t look at me! They’re _your_ flowers! Like, find an ax!”

She looks around desperately for something to fight with. The music grows louder as more flowers join the ensemble, and they delve into a harmony she might have found beautiful if it wasn’t sung by mutant flowers trying to turn her room into the Secret Garden.

_And if I sent a rose of white_  
_For every time I cried all night_  
_You'd have a room full of roses._

She rummages through her desk drawer and comes up with a ruler, a bunch of pens, and a flashlight. She pushes the ruler into Carmilla’s hands and turns on the flashlight.

_And if you took the petals_  
_And you took them all apart_  
_You'd be tearing at the roses_  
_Just the way you tore my heart._

She aims the light at a vine that dashes across the door of the wardrobe.

"Lumos solem! _Lumos solem!"_

Carmilla growls in frustration as she saws at a vine that has latched itself onto _Faust._

"Laura, that isn’t sunlight and _you are not HERMIONE GRANGER!!"_

She squeaks as a vine crawls towards her and brandishes the flashlight like a club. It snatches her cell phone, and she swings down. A sunflower squishes under the flashlight with a pitiful whine.

_If someday you're feeling blue_  
_And you could send some roses too_  
_Well I don't want a room full of roses_  
_I just want my arms full of you_

They hack away, smashing blossoms as they grow, but for every flower they flatten, two more pop up like hydra-hydrangeas growing new heads. The flowers sway from left to right happily to the lively Hawaiian fingerpicking and 1950s crooning that sets the most discordant tone for their desperate fight.

_And if you took the petals  
And you took them all apart_

“The door!” Carmilla cries suddenly, and they dash as one to the exit. The vines shoot out with a rapid burst of speed and the two of them pull back with growls of frustration as the fertilizer-fueled feelers claim the door.

_You'd be tearing at the roses  
The way you tore my heart_

“The window!”

No sooner has she said the words than the creepers respond by covering the glass in a mesh of green. The flowers rise up from the tangle of vines and continue growing unfazed as their siblings flutter to the ground in broken petals like cheerful confetti.

_If someday you're feeling blue  
And you could send some roses too_

“We’re trapped!” Laura shouts over the deafening music as she and Carmilla retreat from the advancing greenery. Carmilla just snarls and hovers protectively between her and the threatening sprouts.

_Well I don't want a room full of roses  
I just want my arms full of you_

The creeping blossoms slow their advance as the last note rings and the Hawaiian slack-key guitar finishes its outro. Laura clutches her flashlight vigilantly and Carmilla tenses, ready for the inevitable attack in the calm before the storm.

It doesn’t come.

The vines stop growing, and the only movement in the room is the merry bobbing of the flowers to a beat only they can hear.

They remain frozen, wary, and fully – well, sort of – armed as the silence stretches.

Slowly, she lowers the flashlight.

“Is it over?” she whispers.

Carmilla looks around skittishly but lowers the ruler.

“I hope so.”

Silence falls again, and Laura sighs in relief and takes in the wreckage.

The vines have spread across the whole half of their room, from Carmilla’s headboard across her desk to the window and the wardrobe and the door. The epicenter is clearly the trashcan, and the black metal is unrecognizable and bent around the remnants of the cracked pot and dirt unequivocally claimed by a tangle of vines that would be at home in the deep Amazon. Carmilla’s things are bent and cracked and mangled beneath the clutch of the flowers, and she looks at her desk forlornly.

Still, Laura has trouble keeping her mouth from falling open when she takes in the full picture, because over the threat of the creeping vines, the blanket of flowers has dominated the whole wall like a field from an Austrian travel catalogue. The colors blink and undulate as the blossoms continue to lightly dance and hum a nameless tune, and she cracks a smile at realizing that the walls are alive with the Sound of Music.

She’d wanted flowers for Valentine’s day.

She just didn’t think she’d have quite this _many_ …

She clears her throat. “Uhm… Now what?”

Carmilla eyes the flowers like they’re garden slugs and she’s just run out of salt. She glances at the door and the window, and grits her teeth.

“I guess we’re going to have to learn to live with each other.”

Laura raises an eyebrow and side-eyes the vampire disparagingly. “Very funny.”

Carmilla catches her gaze and narrows her eyes. “No, it isn’t. Well done, cupid. Now we’re stuck here.”

“ _What_?” Her hand tightens on the flashlight. “How is this _my_ fault?!”

“Who brought in the flowers?”

“ _You’re_ the one who threw them in the trash!”

“Because they were about to bust my eardrums!”

“They were singing _love_ songs. At most they would have melted your cold, cold heart.” She cocks her head and taps her chin mock thoughtfully. “Oh wait, I forgot: _you don’t have one.”_

Carmilla hisses in distaste and turns away. Faintly, she registers the roses increasing their bouncing rhythm and a somewhat familiar tune starting and filling the room, but she’s too pissed to really listen.

“Don’t turn away from me!” she yells as Carmilla searches beneath her bed for another of her no doubt existentialist, nihilistic, _anti-romantic_ philosophy books.

“There is literally no other direction to turn,” Carmilla shoots back. “It’s either listen to you or to the Rolling Sunflowers over there.”

The music grows louder.

 _Here is a little song I wrote  
_ _You might want to sing it note for note_

She recognizes it – Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” – and she shoots the flowers a seething glare as her anger swells.

“You know none of this would have happened if you’d just been a _normal_ person about Valentine’s Day! We could have gone out for dinner and been perfectly happy instead of trapped in a herbologist’s hell!”

 _Don't worry, be happy  
_ _In every life we have some trouble_

Carmilla turns to her, equally livid. “If you’d been as much of a joy at dinner as you are now, we would have spent the night in jail for me attempting to _eat_ you.”

“At least it would have been peacefully _quiet_ there!”

 _When you worry you make it double  
_ _Don't worry, be happy..._

“Oh _shut up!_ ” they snap in unison at the flowers, finding a reprieve in staring each other down and throwing the next verbal punch at their common enemy instead.

Said enemy, however, is seemingly not without claws, and with a swell of the percussion and whistles, two vines snap out and knock them to the ground. She feels a sharp pain on her cheek – did the vine just _slap_ her? – and her hip hits the ground with a dull thud that she feels up her spine.

“Ow…”

The flowers sing loudly.

_Don't worry, be happy…_

She struggles to her feet as Carmilla does the same, looking equally pained. The vampire looks down on her and her eyes darken angrily. Laura bristles instantly, ready for the accusation or the admonition, but instead, Carmilla lightly brushes a spot on her cheek, licks the blood off her thumb, and turns to the flowers.

“Okay, time for some _liberal_ floriculture, bitchblossom,” she growls, and clenches her fist around the ruler threateningly.

The music changes – the whistles going suddenly sharp and the bass growing more prominent.

And the tone is suddenly undeniably ominous.

As are the lyrics:

_There is this little song I wrote_  
_You had better sing it note for note_  
_Like good little children_  
_Be worry, don’t happy,_

_Listen to what I say_  
_Every night expect some trouble_  
_But when you worry_  
_You make it double_  
_Be worry, don’t happy..._

She swallows thickly, and even Carmilla looks apprehensive. “Uhm, how are they making _Bob Marley_ sound threatening?”

“They changed it to minor key,” Carmilla hisses.

“What’s that?”

Carmilla pulls back her lip scathingly. “Seriously?”

“Yes! This is _definitely_ not ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’…”

“Remind me to give you some music lessons later.”

She twitches in irritation. “Remind _me_ to stubbornly ignore you later.”

The vines slither closer menacingly as Carmilla opens her mouth to retort, and they jump back together.

“Crap, they’re growing again,” she hisses as she shields behind Carmilla.

“Yes, I can see that,” the girl replies scornfully.

She rolls her eyes. “Why do I even bother?”

The vines lash out as soon as she finishes the sentence, and they dodge the attack.

She freezes and raises an eyebrow. “Wait,” she says slowly. “Are they attacking when we _bicker?_ ”

Carmilla frowns in confusion. “What?”

“Every time we fight, they attack.”

“But how could they – ”

“You’re a callous blockhead with no relationship skills,” she interrupts emotionlessly.

Carmilla barely gets out the indignant “Hey!” before the flowers beatbox darkly and rear up at them. She slaps a petunia flat against the headboard with the flashlight, and the poppies hiss crossly.

“See?”

“Okay, weird.” Carmilla side-eyes her resentfully. “And I dotoo have relationship skills. Just because I’m not into Valentine’s Day horse-drawn carriages and midnight serenades like some corny simpletons I know – ”

A snapdragon literally snaps at them.

“What did I _just_ say?” Laura whispers.

The dystopian rendition of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” grows menacingly louder, and they both shuffle back nervously.

“Okay! Fine, we won’t fight! See?” She grabs Carmilla’s hand and displays it with a tight smile.

Carmilla scowls, and the music crescendos.

_Put a smile on your face,  
Don’t bring everybody down._

“Be _happy_ ,” she hisses between her teeth.

Carmilla’s scowl deepens. The vines vibrate and rear up like a snake being taunted by a snake charmer. Her heart speeds up.

“Carm, please…”

Carmilla catches her anxious gaze, and her frown softens – at the nickname (total accident, heat of the moment, _seriously_ ) or at the glimmer of fear she can’t repress, she can’t be sure.  Slowly, the corners of the vampire’s mouth twitch up in a horribly plastic grimace.

 “See?” she asks the flowers. “Happy.”

The snakes of wrath slither into their holes and the ominous music flips back to cheerful.

_Don't worry, be happy_  
_Look at me I am happy_  
_Don't worry, be happy_

 “Okay, now what?” Carmilla says after a minute of carefully controlled smiles and slowly dampening palms pressed together.

She looks around for an idea. The roses croon happily, petals flicking up and down as they look between their faces and their entwined fingers like lovesick teenagers.

“I don’t know.”

Silence falls again as the flowers finish the song and begin a new one.

_The first time, ever I saw your face_  
_I thought the sun rose in your eyes_  
_And the moon and the stars_  
_Were the gifts you gave_  
_To the dark, and the endless skies_

Despite the situation, she feels her heart swell with fondness at the song – a classic from one of the very best female vocalists of any era. She vaguely remembers her parents dancing to this when she was young, and she looks over at Carmilla tentatively.

Predictably, Carmilla just sneers, and completely misses her affectionate smile.  

“Wow, they’re really laying it on thick, aren’t they?”

It stings – again. Laura looks away and sighs, frozen smile slipping slightly and hand tensing unhappily.

Carmilla looks up at her disappointed sigh and frowns. “Sorry,” she says woodenly. “I’m – I didn’t mean – ” She grins wryly and shrugs.

Laura doesn’t return the smile.

Carmilla sighs in resignation and squeezes her hand. “Sorry. Really. The song isn’t bad. I actually saw Roberta Flack live once, back in 1972.”

She looks up in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Not too sentimental for you?” she says, somewhat sharply.

Surprisingly, for once Carmilla doesn’t snap back. She looks away, lips pursed and irritated, but frown thoughtful.

“I’m not… unsympathetic or unromantic, you know?” she says carefully. “I like being wooed. I’ll never say no to good food and good company. And I _love_ making you smile. But this –” Her eyes darken and she glares at the flowers. “ – the forced getting along, the expectation of romance… _This_ is the true meaning Valentine’s Day.”

Laura stares in surprise at Carmilla’s sudden dark expression. “Are you serious?

Carmilla cracks a rueful grin and squeezes her hand. “Okay, I admit it’s an extreme… but yes, I am.”

Okay. That’s… unexpected. She doesn’t understand it fully – Carmilla is too complicated to understand after a single, perpetually guarded explanation. But when she takes in Carmilla’s thoughtful, bitter frown and glare at the flowers, she thinks she understands enough to bite back the snide remark.

“Okay,” she says simply.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I kind of get it. I mean, I can’t say I’m exactly enjoying holding your hand because we _have_ to, to keep from being strangled by literal freaks of nature.”

“Same.”

She squeezes her hand anyway, and Carmilla’s sour expression softens into a smile.

_And the first time, ever I kissed your mouth_  
_I felt the earth move in my hands_  
_Like the trembling heart_  
_Of a captive bird_  
_That was there, at my command, my love_

“Uhm, I have an idea,” she says after a moment of quietly enjoying the music (yes, okay, she _likes_ this song, and with the way she’s smiling, she thinks Carmilla does too).

“Okay.”

“How about we just… try not to bite each other’s head off? For real?” Carmilla looks at her expectantly. “And not because it’s Valentine’s Day or because the Guns and Roses are making us, but just because… because we both have very nice heads and it would be a shame to lose them. Plus there really is no other place to go and we can spend all afternoon” – she brings her fingers up as quotes – “‘not fighting’... or we can just spend it _not fighting_ …”

Carmilla looks down, and Laura’s heart drops because she’s sure she’s going to turn her down – quote her Valentine’s Day principles and sneer at the extended olive branch – but she’s wrong because Carmilla smiles fondly and squeezes her hand.

“I think I might like that very much.”

Laura smiles brilliantly at the simple words laced with meaning, and pulls Carmilla close with a quick tug on her hand. The girl laughs and laces a hand around her back as she slides into the hug.

It’s the first genuinely affectionate touch in what feels like hours, and God, despite the endless audience of flowers and the literal creepers they’re entrapped by, it feels _good._ Better than any apology she could have asked for or offered.

Carmilla brushes her lips on her temple fondly, and Laura can feel the chuckle against her chest.

“Besides,” the vampire says with a smile, “if I want to _actually_ bite you I’m sure all I have to do is ask...”

The flowers interrupt the song to wolf-whistle, and Carmilla rolls her eyes. Laura can’t help grinning.

Slowly, tentatively, she slides one her hand to the back of Carmilla’s neck, resting her arm on her shoulder, and laces the fingers of her other one. It’s an invitation, and though Carmilla tenses briefly and glances at the wall of flowers, she eventually lifts their gripped hands and slides her other to her hip and begins to sway to the slow beat.

_And the first time, ever I lay with you_  
_I felt your heart so close to mine_  
_And I knew our joy_  
_Would fill the earth_  
_And last, til the end of time, my love_

 “I can’t believe we’re dancing because some mutant weeds are serenading us,” Carmilla murmurs. Her breath is a warm puff of air against her ear, and Laura smiles and shivers.

“We’re _not._ If they hadn’t been around and it was really just the two of us – and if you hadn’t been such a grump,” she adds with a joking smile, “– I would have liked to anyway.” She grins and tilts her hips just _so._ “Or dance like it’s 1698.”

Carmilla smiles, pulls back and twirls her. As she comes out of the spin with a smile, Carmilla ducks expertly under her arm, and Laura finds herself with both hands at the back of Carmilla’s neck while the girl slides her hands to her hips.

“Mmmh, that type of dance, huh?” Carmilla says with a smile, and she returns the pressure Laura had offered just as the song ends.

The roses cheer.

“Shut it, orchi _deads.”_

An exotic flower she doesn’t know the name of hisses in irritation, but the rest of the flowers continue swaying in the silence as she and Carmilla do the same.

“Pick a station, devil’s snare,” Carmilla murmurs in irritation, but Laura smiles at the fact she hasn’t pulled away from the dance. She plays absentmindedly with the soft locks at the back of Carmilla’s neck, and Carmilla purrs happily.

A chorus of daffodils begins a soft intro of saxophones and trumpets, and she smiles and presses closer against Carmilla as the familiar song starts.

_Give me a kiss to build a dream on_  
_And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss_  
_Sweetheart, I ask no more than this_  
_A kiss to build a dream on_

“God, this is tacky,” Carmilla murmurs, and Laura laughs at what essentially boils down a disclaimer when it comes to Carmilla: ‘I am not enjoying dancing with my girlfriend on Valentine’s Day. In no way is this or will this be a normal occurrence for me. Definitely _not_ enjoying this.’

If Carmilla’s hands hadn’t tightened on her hips and her steps gotten just a little lighter with the faster beat, Laura might have considered believing her.

“Shush,” she murmurs instead, and Carmilla purses her lips to hide her smile.

_Give me a kiss before you leave me_  
_And my imagination will feed my hungry heart_  
_Leave me one thing before we part_  
_A kiss to build a dream on_

Carmilla’s hands stray lower. Not scandalously so – she knows she would never compromise her pristine dancing form to give in to indecency – but the movement is deliberate enough to make her pull back slightly and raise a curious eyebrow.

Carmilla licks her lips.

“I really want to kiss you.”

Laura’s heart speeds up and the music crescendos hopefully.

_Oh, give me your lips for just a moment  
And my imagination will make that moment live_

She licks her own lips subtly, and tilts up expectantly to Carmilla’s. She’s never needed an invitation before, and Carmilla’s hand on her lower back pulls her closer than ever.

But the kiss doesn’t come.

“But?” she whispers finally when Carmilla’s frown doesn’t smooth.

“But…” Carmilla glances at the flowers warily as they continue crooning Louis Armstrong.

_Give me what you alone can give  
A kiss to build a dream on _

Carmilla pulls her in and brushes her lips past her cheek to leave the words quietly by her ear. “But I really want to _not_ kiss you, because I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re waiting for. What they’re singing for.”

Her breath hitches at the sudden closeness and the way Carmilla’s lips continue to lightly brush along the shell of her ear like it’s all she can do to keep from kissing her.

“Dilemmas, dilemmas,” she murmurs cheekily, suppressing the breathlessness and the sudden urge to croon along with the flowers – though in quite a different key.  She tightens her hand in Carmilla’s hair and waits.

_Oh, give me your lips for just a moment  
And my imagination will make that moment live _

Carmilla’s lips inch slowly from her ear across her cheek as she sways her, and God, if she doesn’t kiss her soon, she swears she’s going to lay one on her herself, audience be damned.

“Carm,” she whines impatiently, and Carmilla finally slides into her field of vision, eyes trained on her lips and nothing else – flowers forgotten, song forgotten, nothing but the kiss they both yearn for.

Carmilla pulls her in, and she tilts into the kiss with a sigh of relief.

And then the music changes and Laura’s stomach drops faster than her heart can soar.

Three cheerful chords of a guitar and two high-pitched, whined words ( _Kiii-iiss me…_ ) are enough to send she and Carmilla jerking back from the kiss and embrace so fast she thinks they must have planned it. 

She turns lividly to the wall of greenery and screeches: “We don’t need a theme for everything we do thankyouverymuch!”

The flowers trail off with a disappointed whine ( _Under the bearded barleyyyy…)_ and fall silent.

“Told you that’s what they were waiting for,” Carmilla grunts grumpily, and slouches down on the edge of her bed.

Laura throws up her hands and turns in exasperation. “This is _impossible_!”

“ _Now_ do you agree Valentine’s Day sucks?”

“No,” she replies stubbornly, and though Carmilla rolls her eyes, she’s still smiling enough for Laura to know the situation is starting to amuse her more than anything.

She herself hasn’t quite decided if she’s more pissed or amused.

She bites her lips and tries to reset her breathing rhythm because it’s beyond embarrassing how all over the place it’s gotten.

Carmilla notices her discomfort and smirks. “See? Tradition _ruins_ romance,” she says with a pointed look at the wall of flowers.

The flowers cower submissively and the ones that can, close their petals in apology.

“Better,” Carmilla sniffs haughtily.

Laura crosses her arms and sits down with a huff on her own bed. Her lips still glow from the far too short kiss, and the way Carmilla is subtly licking them, she knows she’s not the only one. She crosses her legs in frustration, and Carmilla follows the movement attentively. Laura catches her eyes when she looks back up, and instantly wishes she hadn’t because _this is not helping her get her breathing under control._ She looks away hastily and distractedly reads the ingredients on the box of chocolates on her desk.

The silence stretches.

“So, what do we do now?” she asks finally.

Carmilla looks up again, and the desire she’d seen before has not decreased in the _slightest._ She looks away quickly.

Carmilla sighs in frustration. “Ride it out and wait for help? I’m sure your imbecilic carrot-top will come nosing around at one point to check on her experiment…”

She matches Carmilla’s sigh and recrosses her legs.

“So much for grand romantic gestures to show me you love me,” Laura grumbles quietly.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she sees a single rose slowly lift its head and turn to them. It turns subtly to look between them, and then, tentatively, it opens its petals and starts to croon the softest melody yet – so soft, Carmilla doesn’t even hear it.

_How does she knoooow you love her?_

Another rose lifts its head and joins.

_How does she knoooow she's yooooooours?_

Carmilla turns her head watchfully, picking up the sound, just as Laura recognizes the song.

Her stomach drops.

Oh no.

_Enchanted._

Perfectly on cue, a wave of poppies jump into existence and supply a reggae beat and all the roses in the room come out of hiding to sing the next lines.

_How does she know that you love her?  
How do you show her you love her? _

Carmilla jumps to her feet and smacks one of the roses flat against the headboard. “Don’t.”

It lets out a pitiful whine, but the rest of the roses lean closer and croon in harmony:

_How does she know that you really, really, truly love her?_

“She knows!” Carmilla snaps, and swipes at the flowers. They lean away from her attack, but, with a final staccato ‘ _really, truly love her’,_ thankfully go mum.

“Good God, will this nightmare ever end?” Carmilla exclaims with a huff and buries her face in her hands. No sooner has she said the words than the next song starts:

_If there’s a prize for rotten judgment, I guess I’ve already won that._  
_No one is worth the aggravation._  
_That's ancient history, been there, done that!_

Carmilla looks up with a groan.

_Who d’you think you’re kidding,_  
_She’s the earth and heaven to ya._  
_Try to keep it hidden,_  
_Honey, we can see right through you_

Laura cringes preemptively as Carmilla continues to seethe at the flowers – only lilies singing this time – but slowly, surprisingly, her fiery expression soothes and she simply listens.

_Girl, you can't conceal it_  
_We know how you feel and_  
_Who you're thinking of!_

And then –

“Are you humming along?” Laura asks incredulously.

Carmilla freezes. “…No.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

The lilies grow louder.

_You swoon, you sigh, why deny it, uh-oh._

Laura snorts as Carmilla sends them a betrayed glare. “I was… trying to _relax_.” She crosses her arms defensively. “And I like Megara, okay?”

Her eyebrows rise higher. “You like _Hercules_?”

“Did I stutter?” Carmilla snaps. “ _Me-ga-ra._ As far as Disney princesses go, she isn’t half bad.”

Laura purses her lips to hide a smile and stands up, stepping closer playfully. “Mmm, makes sense. Broody heroine unwillingly tied to an evil super-villain and who thinks she’s too badass to be saved.”

Carmilla raises a finger. “And who’s in love with a naïve idiot with a hero complex.”

“In love, huh?” Laura teases.

Carmilla purses her lips but can’t hide the reluctantly fond smile.

_Give up, give in, check the grin you're in love._

Carmilla rolls her eyes.

A beat. Laura bites her lip with a playful smirk, holding back the question that’s just _dying_ to escape – because she really, really _shouldn’t…_ It’s playing with an already stoked fire – asking for either a kiss or a kick…

Oh, screw it.

 “So will _you_?”

Carmilla looks up with a confused frown. “Will I what?”

As though on cue, the flowers in the back hum softly and smooth the beat:

_Girl, don't be proud, it's okay, you're in love…_

Carmilla purses her lips in irritation, but looks up at Laura expectantly.

Laura gestures to the flowers and smiles smugly. “Say you’re in love.”

“And give the dancing daffodils what they want? No way.”

“It might get them to shut up,” she sing-songs teasingly, and steps between Carmilla’s legs where she’s still sitting on the bed. Carmilla’s fingers brush lightly at her knees.

“Come on,” she purrs.

Carmilla smiles subtly at her playfulness, and her fingers tiptoe higher. Laura snatches them up when Carmilla’s smile turns to a smirk, and holds them trapped.

“Say it.”

The flowers stay thankfully silent for a moment – like they’re holding their breath – and Laura feels the tension build in the sudden quiet as Carmilla ponders her answer.

“Fine,” she finally drawls, but the edge is lost in the way her hands are loose and tender in Laura’s own, and she still just completely _fails_ at hiding her smile. “Yes. I am.”

“You’re what?” she teases.

Carmilla rolls her eyes again. “In _love_.”

She suppresses an eye roll at Carmilla’s near-nauseous tone, and simply slides her hands into the girl’s hair to tilt her face up for a kiss – a kiss that apparently sends the frustratingly-juvenile flowers into a rage of hormones that can only be expressed through song:

 _Je t’aime je t’aime_  
_Oh oui je t’aime  
_ _Moi non plus_

 “Ugh, way to ruin the moment, peeping poppies,” Carmilla snaps as she pulls away from the almost-kiss. “Some of us actually speak French.”

“What?” Laura asks absentmindedly as she tries to catch Carmilla’s attention again with nails lightly at the back of her neck.

“It translates as ‘I love you – me neither.’”

“Oh. That’s not very romantic.”

On cue, the flowers cut off and a large daffodil tilts its petals and starts dramatically trumpeting the intro to “Careless Whisper”.

“Wow. Overkill.”

Laura laughs at Carmilla’s distasteful expression as the music swells, and pulls her in.

“Shut up,” she murmurs, and her kiss makes sure she does.

Carmilla hums in surprise, but returns the kiss wholeheartedly.

Laura presses down eagerly, grazing her lips lightly, teasingly, on Carmilla’s and sliding her tongue past her lips just enough to make her arch her neck and search for more. Carmilla slides her hands to her thighs and inches them slowly higher as Laura deepens the kiss with slow, mapping lips and soft encouraging whimpers that she knows will make Carmilla putty in her hands within minutes.

 _I’m never gonna dance again  
_ _Guilty feet have got no rhythm…_

“God, that’s depressing,” Carmilla murmurs around a smile as she tilts up against Laura’s exploring lips. The words are warm puffs of air on Laura’s aching lips and she growls in playful annoyance at Carmilla’s distraction. She wishes she had something to throw at the flowers, because Carmilla’s right: “Careless Whisper” is not the right kind of romantic.

The flowers may be trained, but in her book, they could definitely use another few lessons in gauging intimacy, respecting privacy, and recognizing boundaries.

 _There's no comfort in the truth  
_ _Pain is all you'll fiiiiiind_

Okay, seriously?

She pulls back from the kiss with a huff of annoyance, snatches the yellow pillow by Carmilla’s elbow, and launches it at the flowers.

“Will you change the channel already?”

The flowers go instantly silent. A cluster of hydrangeas looks positively offended.

She turns away with an irritated sniff and pulls Carmilla back in for a passionate kiss without waiting for the next song to start.

Flowers be damned, she’ll goddamn kiss her girlfriend if she wants so.

Carmilla is smiling into the kiss like she’s reading her mind and loving the contents. Laura returns the smile and twirls her fingers through the soft locks of hair at the back of her neck playfully. She knows what Carmilla loves, and the girl sighs happily into the kiss.

A group of hibiscuses – hibisci? – in the corner begin twirling and two distorted, electric guitar notes twang cheekily over a slow, sensual beat set by the poppies.

_I need someone's hand to lead me through the night_  
_I need someone's arms to hold and squeeze me tight_  
_Now, when the night begins, whoa, I'm at an end_  
_Because I need your love so bad_

She pulls back, just a second, and Carmilla chases after her lips hungrily.

The song is… suggestive. Not indecently so, but she eyes the flowers suspiciously.

Are they trying to set a _mood_?

“Ignore the evergreen jukebox, creampuff,” Carmilla says with a smile, and Laura returns it carefully and lets Carmilla kiss her again. After another minute of kissing, her smile is real, and she marvels at the change in her girlfriend as she kisses her unhurriedly. She supposes _ignoring it_ is the best way for Carmilla to push past her reservations about being romantic on Valentine’s Day – not to mention her reservations about kissing with an audience as eager as the vines of voyeuristic violets here…

So she tries to push away the suspicions about the song choice, and kisses back with equal, slowly growing ardor.

Soon, she can’t help but push just a little closer, pressing her body against Carmilla’s where she’s still standing between her legs as the girl sits on the bed. She pulls eagerly at her neck, and Carmilla lets out an aroused whine when Laura draws her bottom lip between her teeth and sucks the sensitive skin hungrily. Her hands slide higher and squeeze her butt through her jeans, and now it’s _her_ turn to smile.

_Tell me that you love me, and stop drivin' me mad  
Whoa, because I, I need your love so bad_

She yields to the pull and presses a knee on the bed to Carmilla’s right. Carmilla leans back slightly and slides a hand up Laura’s back under her shirt to pull her with her. She lifts her other knee and hooks her arm around Carmilla’s neck as she straddles her.

 _Need a soft voice, just to talk to me at night_  
Don't want you to worry, baby  
I know we can make everything alright

She grinds her hips down deliberately, and Carmilla’s breath hitches and she momentarily breaks the kiss. Their eyes meet and she breathes out equally sharply at the undeniably hungry glint in Carmilla’s eyes. With a groan of desire, Carmilla pulls her against her and grazes her lips along her jawline to her neck.

She tilts her head back as Carmilla leaves heated kisses across her throat and presses back the soft moan of arousal and frustration. Because good god, this is _frustrating._ Carmilla’s lips are warm and enthusiastic across her neck, her fingers dig into her butt and slide beneath her shirt on her back, playing with the clasp of her bra, _asking_ , and all she wants to do is say _yes._

But she knows where this _can’t_ go. Kissing, sure. Come-hither gleams and eager hands, of course. But Carmilla runs her sharp teeth across her neck and pulls her own her lip between them with a shudder and her fingers tighten meaningfully, holding back, and she knows she’s not alone in realizing that they can’t go further than this.

Not with an audience of five thousand magical flowers.

As though on cue, the room fills with four infamous wah-wah guitar notes heralding the start of one of the most famous Motown classics of all time.

_I've been really tryin’, baby  
Tryin’ to hold back these feelings for so long_

She pulls back in surprise, eyes wide and appalled.

Carmilla’s equally wide eyes darken. “Do they mean – ”

Her jaw tightens. “They had _better_ not mean – ”

_Let's get it on…_

Okay, they _do_.  

She jumps off Carmilla's lap and turns furiously to the flowers. “Enough!” She grabs an empty cup off her desk and throws it. Two poppies miss the beat, but the rest continue unfazed. “Hey! We are not going to have sex with all of you _watching_ and especially _not_ because you tell us to!”

The music grows louder, and a handful of vines rear up and rattle threateningly.

_There's nothin’ wrong with me  
Lovin’ you and givin’ yourself to me can never be wrong _

She tightens her fists around her statistics book – her next piece of ammo – and shakes with fury as Carmilla looks on with a wide, somewhat impressed smirk. “No!” She chucks the stats book at a collection of magnolias and they keen piteously as they’re crushed under the weight of logistic regression and nonparametric T-tests.

“You can just go – _self-pollinate_ , you obsessed creepers!”

There’s a brief lull in the music, and the vines pull back in what looks suspiciously like affront.

“Did you just tell them to go fuck themselves?” Carmilla asks incredulously.

She just seethes and searches for something else to throw.

Carmilla suddenly pulls her close and smooches her passionately. “God, I love you,” she says around a laugh as Laura’s eyes flutter open in surprise at the unexpected kiss. She returns the smile and tightens her arms around her girlfriend.

The music swells romantically in response ( _come on baby, stop beatin’ ‘round the bush...._ ), and she and Carmilla grit their teeth and slowly turn in unison to the flowers.

“They have _got_ to go,” she snaps.

Carmilla tenses her shoulders and crouches. “Right behind you, babe.”

The music ends with a soulful saxophone outro and a dramatically crooned _Let’s get it on,_ and silence falls.

They tense in anticipation and trepidation as the perpetually jovial flowers continue to sway to a silent beat and begin to sing again – an even more nauseatingly cheerful rendition of “A Room Full of Roses” – and the vines start to creep across the floor, claiming inch by inch of space with menacing sluggishness.

_If I sent a rose to you_  
_For every time you made me blue_  
_You'd have a room full of roses._

She purses her lips angrily and reaches for the next textbook to throw. “Bring it, bitchbushes.”

Instantly, a creeper shoots out and wraps itself around her ankle, pulling her toward them. She screeches in alarm and throws the book – to little effect as just the alto section of the lilies gets squashed and four vines shoot out to strangle her Journalism 101 reading. Carmilla catches her as she loses her balance, holds on tight, and lifts her foot and crushes the vine beneath her heel. It loosens its hold, and she grabs onto Carmilla frightfully.

“Holy crap,” she squeaks. “ _Jumanji_ should have prepared me for that… but _holy_ crap.”

Another vines shoots out, and Carmilla slaps it away with her ruler. The vine rears up and she blocks the next attack too – and again. And again. She grimaces in concentration and tightens her hold on Laura with her other arm as she spars the overgrown garden creeper.

“Laura, help me!” she grits out.

Laura’s heart beats in her throat as she looks around desperately for a weapon. “ _How_?!”

“Throw something else!” she shouts desperately as another vine joins the swordfight and she desperately tries to hold them off.

Even on the swashbuckler creeper, poppies and peonies and petunias bob happily and sing their favorite – and Laura’s new _least_ favorite – song:

 _And if I sent a rose of white_  
_For every time I cried all night  
_ _You'd have a room full of roses._

Another creeper slithers out and grabs Carmilla’s knee. It yanks – hard, and Carmilla falls to the ground with a dull thud and a frightened shout and nearly pulls her with her.

“Carm!” She falls to her knees and grabs on to her as the girl turns onto her back and tries to loosen the vine around her knee.

“This was a bad idea!” she says.

“Tell me about it!” Carmilla shouts back.

Six more vines shoot out and latch on, and Carmilla grimaces in pain as they tighten and begin to pull her into the tangle of writhing vines as they advance their slithering trek.

“A _really_ bad idea!”

She pulls as hard as she can on the vice of vines as Carmilla struggles, but if a centuries-old vampire with superhuman strength can’t make a dent in its hold… 

“Can you shift? Cats have claws!”

Carmilla growls in frustration and slashes at the vines with frustratingly human nails. “Not like this!”

The vines advance.

In utter desperation, she grabs another textbook off her desk and lobs it at a jumble of jasmine flowers, whose petals explode in a cloud of color and flutter through the air. If they hadn’t both been about to be strangled by something out straight of Harry Potter, she might have found it vaguely romantic.

_And if you took the petals_  
_And you took them all apart_  
_You'd be tearing at the roses_  
_Just the way you tore my heart._

The box of Valentine’s chocolates on her desk topples to the ground before she can stop them and roll across the vine-threatened floor like a bunch chocolate beetles. She squishes one with her hand and groans in irritation as the chocolate sticks between her fingers.

“Laura!” Carmilla cries.

Laura looks up and her stomach drops as sees at least a dozen more vines crawling up Carmilla’s body – across her hip, over her stomach, grabbing her wrist, and – horribly – around her neck.

“No!” she screeches and lunges at the vines with her bare hands. Her hands slip on the melted chocolate as she grips the vine and pulls, but she doesn’t care because Carmilla’s eyes are wide and suddenly more than just a little frightened.

To her surprise, the flowers on the vine scream as soon as she touches it, and it pulls away and disappears into the mess of advancing foliage.

Her eyes widen, but Carmilla groans in pain, and she doesn’t question it – simply grabs the next vine and the next and the next as they all retreat from her touch.

“Woah, how’d you do that?” Carmilla asks when she finally scrambles to her feet and jumps away from the vines. They have only a few square feet of space left undominated by the herbs from hell.

She stares at her hands, taking in the caramel and chocolate mess squished across her palm with wide eyes.

“I have no idea?”

Suddenly LaFontaine’s words come back to her: _“Just don’t give them sugar or water.”_

“Sugar!” she shouts excitedly.

“What is it, honey?” Carmilla replies between tight lips as she inches back against the desk.

“No, I mean _sugar_. They don’t like sugar!”

She drops back to her knees and begins raking up the Valentine’s chocolates. A vine slithers at her threateningly, and she narrows her eyes, aims, and fires.

Incredibly, the vine reaches up and _catches_ the chocolate – a decision it must instantly regret because all its flowers screech in horribly child-like voices and begin to wither as she watches. The vine shudders and writhes, and crackles and disintegrates like a timelapse of a pumpkin patch left in the sun. The dehydration spreads from the tip of the vine down across the whole length of it and into the wall of vegetation and disappears.

“Wow,” Carmilla says with wide eyes.

She straightens, arms cradling the near-magical Valentine’s sweets. “I know.”

“Okay. Ammo.” Carmilla holds out her hands.

“Cookies, behind my laptop. Brownies, third drawer. Stash of Jolly Ranchers in the secret compartment in the bottom one.”

Carmilla lays all the items out on the desk. “Wait, why do you have a secret compartment of – “

“Later,” she says simply, and throws another chocolate at an attacking vine.

The battle tips instantly in their favor.

She sidesteps as an ugly creeper advances, and throws a sweet at it. The screams of its dying flowers are music to her ears as the rest of flowers continue to blast them with George Morgan’s pleading ballad.

_If someday you're feeling blue  
And you could send a rose or two_

Carmilla steps forward and drops a handful of crumbled cookies like a barrage of acid sugar rain on two vines that reach for her ankles like lover’s arms.

 _Don't send me a room full of roses  
_ _I just want my arms around you._

They recover a few feet of space, and step forward with the brownies – a sugar overload if she’s ever known one. The flowers cry wretchedly. One brownie knocks out three vines, and she and Carmilla catch each other’s gaze excitedly.

“I can’t believe this is working!” she yells while the lilies moan as the Jolly Rancher poison chokes them out.

“Whoever knew your abysmal diet could end up saving our lives one day?” Carmilla returns with a smile as a collection of hydrangeas wail like dying dragons under a shower of Jolly Ranchers _–_ like hy _dragons,_ she thinks with a snort of laughter.

Soon enough, they’ve got the predatory (arguably prepubescent) plant cornered to the remnants of Carmilla’s desk. Laura confidently pops a Jolly Rancher into her mouth and smiles wickedly as Carmilla takes aim with the last brownie.

“ _Well, I don’t want a room full of roses_ ,” Carmilla sings softly, lips pulled back in a threatening smile, and Laura barely hears the few remaining flower’s voices over Carmilla’s sweet one. With a last menacing smirk, the girl drops the brownie and deals the killing blow. The sugar tears through the plant like hydrochloric acid, and the plant quivers and dies on the earnest last lines of its favorite song:

_I just want my arms around yoooooou..._

Silence falls.

 “ _Finally_ ,” she says with a wonderfully freeing laugh.

“Amen,” Carmilla replies with a matching grin.

When they step back and take in the battlefield, she feels a tinge of guilt for laughing at Carmilla’s ruined things before, because she’s suddenly in the same boat. Her headboard is entwined by now dead weeds. Her sugar supplies are utterly depleted. Her yellow pillow, amazingly, survived, and is perched on top of the cupboard like a lone survivor on a deserted island.  Her textbooks, however, weren’t spared. She wonders how she’ll fly that by her professors Monday – sorry, my flowers ate my homework?

She covers a laugh, but can’t hold back a smile – a smile that only grows when she notices how her bed is almost covered with flower petals. It’s not exactly the way she’d imagined sprinkling her bed with flower petals, but she supposes it’ll do.

Carmilla catches her impish smile and grabs her hand to pull her close and Laura can see from the come-hither gleam in her eye that she’s thinking _exactly_ the same thing.

However, with a sharp crackle as it crushes the dead vines, the door slams open and they pull apart in surprise.

Perry is framed by the light of the doorway like an avenging lion.

“Why was this door locked?” she demands, glaring at them resolutely. “You know our policy on locked doors. _No_ tolerance, okay? _Especially_ you two, what with the incessant noise complaints we’ve been – ”

Perry cuts off suddenly as she notices their incredulous expressions and the utter wreckage of their room.

 “What is – ” Her mouth drops open, and she stomps her foot, growls, and balls her hands into fists at her side. “Oh, I am going to _kill_ LaFontaine!”

“Not if we find them first!” Carmilla shouts as Perry turns her heel and stalks away stiffly – a woman on a mission.

Carmilla turns like she’s serious about following, and Laura shakes her head fondly because if the vampire really thinks _she_ can deliver a more thoroughly humiliating and chastising talking to than Perry, she has another thing coming...

“Don’t,” she says simply, and pulls her back into her arms. Carmilla grumbles grouchily, but her objections are lost in the way she returns Laura’s embrace instantly. Laura smiles when she notices a smudge of chocolate on Carmilla’s forehead, and wets her thumb to wipe it away.

Carmilla’s eyes glow affectionately as she lets her.

“That was an adventure,” she says when she settles her arms back around her girlfriend.

“Mmmhmm. A holiday where I can kill things. Not half bad.” Her smile falters, and she purses her lips apologetically. “Sorry about being a bitch about Valentine’s Day.”

She nods and shrugs lightly. “And I’m sorry for not listening… And for being an eternal trouble-magnet.”

They take in the pile of compostable destruction around them and crack a smile.

Carmilla crinkles her nose playfully. “You really are, aren’t you? Good thing you’re pretty good at saving your own butt.”

“And yours,” Laura reminds her with a grin. “Good thing, yeah.”

“It’s a very good butt, so…” Carmilla says with a suggestive quirk of her eyebrow.

“Which, yours or mine?”

Carmilla slides her hands lower and gives her her answer.

“What do _you_ think?”

Laura laughs and pulls her in for a kiss.

“Do you want to go out to dinner or something?” Carmilla asks when they pull apart.

Her heart jumps. “Really?”

Carmilla nods, and her heart beats louder and faster than ever. “But…” the vampire says when she catches Laura’s infinitely excited smile. “…if everywhere we look there are couples holding hands and mentally undressing each other, I can’t guarantee I won’t eat someone.”

“You mean besides me?”

She’s not sure who’s more shocked at the unexpected comment, and she backtracks instantly. Carmilla’s eyes are wide in surprise and delight and her smile turns into a smirk.

“Well, that was wonderfully naughty,” she says over Laura’s sputtering.

“I – I didn’t mean – ”

“Oh yes, you did,” she murmurs, and slides her hand suggestively back under her shirt at her back. “At least – after the afternoon we’ve just had – I sincerely hope you did.”

Laura shakes her head with a laugh and lets Carmilla pull her in for a passionate kiss that makes her knees go weak and makes her briefly consider changing eating out for eating _in._

Faintly, under the soft sound of lips and the lightest of moans (Carmilla, this time), Laura picks up the sound of music, and she pulls away warily as Carmilla does the same.

They look down to see a single rose swaying on a dehydrated vine and humming a hopeful, happy tune.

_There's nothing you can do that can't be done_  
_Nothing you can sing that can't be sung_  
_Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game_  
_It's easy_

Laura braces herself for the sight of Carmilla’s shoe crushing the rose and cutting off the child-like floral voice, but surprisingly, Carmilla’s scowl turns to a smile and she leans down to pick up the rose.

_All you need is love_  
_All you need is love_  
_All you need is love, love_  
_Love is all you need!_

The vampire lifts a finger as the rose turns to her. “Shh,” she says simply, and the bud falls silent.

With a flourish, she twirls it and offers it to Laura.

Laura smiles and happily takes it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Carm,” she says with a wink.

Carmilla just rolls her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope it’s filled with love and care and friends! If not – just think of all the chocolate that’ll be on sale tomorrow to dull the ache! :P  
> I realize I was kind of all over the place this fic, flow and pacing be damned, haha, but thanks for reading anyway! Please, please, please leave a comment! It means the world!
> 
> Song list: (parentheses for the lyric-less honorable mentions)  
> 1\. [Peter Cetera – Glory of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIYfgXKloMU)  
> 2\. [Al Green – Let’s Stay Together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COiIC3A0ROM)  
> 3\. [The Little Mermaid – Kiss the Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXmLRHnoSAs)  
> 4\. [(Tina Turner – You’re simply the best)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNU3aIJs88g)  
> 5\. [(The Faders – No Sleep Tonight)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5CA3XbeSY0)  
> 6\. [(Foreigner – Cold as Ice)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eC99JhQq-3w)  
> 7\. [(Alvin and the Chipmunks – Wooly Bully)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oq0zefG7YD4)  
> 8\. [George Morgan - A Room Full Of Roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tey9iTkttH0)  
> 9\. [Bob Marley – Don’t Worry, Be Happy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3HQMbQAWRc)  
> 10\. [Bob Marley – Be Worry, Don’t Happy (in minor key) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbTxfN8d2CI)**(listen to this!)**  
>  11\. [Roberta Flack – The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Id_UYLPSn6U)  
> 12\. [Louis Armstrong – Kiss to Build a Dream On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDgncPD0bew)  
> 13\. [Sixpence None The Richer – Kiss Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8N-qO3sPMjc)  
> 14\. [Amy Adams (Enchanted) – That’s How You Know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRYU4cqUAUs)  
> 15\. [Megara (Hercules) – I Won’t Say I’m In Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tl0DMTlwLw4)  
> 16\. [Brigitte Bardot – Je t'aime… moi non plus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3nHpnhu8Ds)  
> 17\. [George Michael – Careless Whisper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izGwDsrQ1eQ)  
> 18\. [Fleetwood Mac – Need Your Love So Bad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWa2nHsOx7M)  
> 19\. [Marvin Gaye – Let’s Get It On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3j3okb3kuts)  
> 20\. [George Morgan - A Room Full Of Roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tey9iTkttH0)  
> 21\. [The Beatles – All You Need Is Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9_vhYpR9xo)


End file.
